Trance
by livvykitty
Summary: Dean can't sleep one night and Cas is there to help him fall asleep without fear. (Very light Destiel, barely there)


**This is my first fic for SPN and I'm only in season 2. Please don't murder me if my Castiel sucks. You may, however, kill me for any inacuracies with Sam and Dean. And with Hell. That's fine.**

**This is probably not how angel mojo works, but hey. I gave it a shot.**

**Disclaimer: I claim no credit for any of the characters. Supernatural belongs to its rightful owners.**

* * *

Dean woke up and immediately realized two things. One, he was not hanging on a rack and being cut by thousands of demons, hearing the screams of all the people he knew as they died one by one, blaming him for their agonizing ends (_it's **my fault**, I'm so **sorry**, please **stop screaming**, it **hurts**_). Two, he was looking into a pair of impossibly blue eyes. He quickly scrambled backwards and pointed a knife at the intruder's chest, a mix of panic, fear and instinct kicking in. Then he recognized who it was.

Castiel looked down at the knife pointed at his chest, poking the tip of the blade, "Dean, I am no foe." Dean lowered the steel edge, his grip still so tight on the handle that his knuckles were white.

"Cas, how many times have we talked about this?" Dean pushed through gritted teeth. He hadn't gotten any sleep for weeks and what little of it he's had has been filled with nightmares. To say that he was feeling pissed was an understatement. Unfortunately, Castiel didn't quite catch on to the elder Winchester's grumpy disposition.

"Well," Castiel tilted his head at the blade, "I do not believe that knife would do much good in harming me..."

Dean didn't have the patience for that at the moment, "_Personal space, Cas._" The angel blinked for a moment before letting out a little 'oh' of realization and backing away, sitting on the edge of Dean's bed (the hunter wouldn't admit it, but he kind of missed the angel's body beside him). As those incredibly bright sapphire eyes locked on to him and began analyzing, Dean found himself snapping, "What the hell do you want?"

"Dean, it seems that you're exhausted." Castiel stated quite bluntly.

Dean just scowled, "Congratulations! You deserve a fucking prize because you're obviously the next Sherlock Holmes. How'd you ever figure it out?" Castiel, unfortunately, didn't pick up on the sarcasm. Or maybe he did, but just chose to ignore it. Dean was beyond caring at that point.

"You have dark rings under your eyes, your gaze is unfocussed every other minute or so, you're completely tense and from the way you're gripping that knife, you're recalling some bad memories." Castiel reported, as if that would help. It did help. It helped Dean in the fact that he knew he looked like crap.

"Thank you Castiel." Dean groaned and flopped onto the scratchy motel bed, glaring over his shoulder to see that Sam was sleeping through this. Dean snorted and rolled back over to the angel that seemed to be concentrating on something. It's not like his brother would be up any time soon. He had just as rough of a time as he had, and once that damn moose was out, he was out.

When Dean felt the cool brush of two fingers on his forehead, he instinctively flinched back. Castiel pulled his hand back a bit, "Be still." Dean was about to mumble some more bitch complaints (even though that was more of Sammy's department) about how ridiculous the angel was being, but something in the raven haired man's voice shut him up. Two fingers pressed against Dean's forehead.

Castiel wasn't exactly sure if this would work. He hoped that it would. Dean very much needed the rest, and he didn't know if Dean could do so with so many human concerns and tortures keeping peace at bay. Though Castiel didn't fully understand them, he was willing to help his friend put these feelings aside. The only way to find out, though, was to try.

Dean found the fingers oddly comforting. They began to warm up, little waves falling from the top of his head to the tips of his toes that ebbed away the tension. His grip on his knife loosened and he didn't put up a fight when Castiel gently pried it from his hand. The nightmare images from before floated away from him, seemingly sucked away by some invisible force. His breathing slowed down and he allowed himself to sink. Whatever was happening to him, he didn't mind.

Who was he again? Did it really matter? When everything was this blissful and heavy and sleepy, his mind fogged. He leaned into the angel's fingers, more calm and serene washing over him. His last few coherent thoughts drifted and that angelic touch moved away. He opened his eyes and looked at the man seated before him before registering a complete need for sleep. With no second thoughts or fear for what demons may haunt him, Dean rolled over. With his head blissfully empty and blank, he found himself asleep in moments.

Castiel watched as Dean whined slightly, then curled into himself. Castiel felt a little guilty for wiping Dean of his humanity, but at least the weight was lifted off the hunter's shouilders. Dean was indulging in pure instinct at the moment as his eyes closed. Castiel knew that his human side would appear when he woke up next. The angel with the charcoal wings hoped that it would be a long time before he did. Castiel pulled the comforter over him and smiled, brushing his lips against the subdued hunter's.

"Sleep well."

Little did either angel or slumbering human know, but Sam was awake the entire time. At the precise moment when Castiel's lips brushed Dean's, he snapped a photo. God, this would make amazing blackmail whenever the next pranking war came up...


End file.
